13th May 2003, 11:52 AM
Personally, I think DJ looks like a young man, who wears glasses, and is possibly a woman. A woman with large supple breasts, about the size of basketballs only soft. Soft like the pillow-like texture of clouds forming above the virgin forests of deepest, darkest Africa. Only less sticky. And his eyes, his beautiful gaping eyes with teeth and nostrils. Eyes that hear and smell like small men with wings. Organic in structure but angelic in scope, a novelty only to the perfected. And though I speak kind words to him; I wish him dead or crippled each day of my life. I wake and find myself staring obtrusively in to the mirror as if to find a different face. And in that moment I wish Dark Jaguar had a horrible, sacreligous experience with calculators, pie and dwarves. The sign of the end. The pie carries the sweetness of all things living while the dwarves embody the essense of kitchenettes and the calculators, forged by man, carry inside them the meaning of latex rubber gloves and forgotten pizza toppings... like Anna Nicole Smith, or Jada Pinket Smith, or perhaps Rob Lowe and Christopher Reeve. Like puddles of mucas inside a dream state wrapped in to a burrito of beauty and pudding and perhaps even Christina Applegate. Behind his textured wall of text which performs its ritualistic dance on my monitor, text that I know was formed by his giant deformed brain, I can see his many faces and bindings of unnatural things. I can see through him, and all of his many tentacles and gyroscopes. A picture painted of tongues and geese.
Large, white geese.
And maybe some pencils.
Large, white geese.
And maybe some pencils.